


My Thoughts Are Yours

by mysterixn



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Implied Sexual Content, Limb loss, M/M, More characters to be added, More tags to be added, Sad Backstory, Soulmate AU, bc it's mccree, really bad timeskips, reyes' life was hard, slowburn, still in overwatch universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-25 18:14:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7542916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterixn/pseuds/mysterixn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soulmate AU- the two soulmates can, at random, hear seconds or even minutes of each other's thoughts</p><p>or</p><p>How Jesse McCree finds himself in a lot of odd situations with Overwatch members</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blackwatch

**Author's Note:**

> i love soulmate au world building, so i'm gonna lay it on you at the beginning
> 
> -"hearing thoughts" is a vision-type thing -- the person passes out completely for the duration of it  
> -the visions happen randomly and at any time  
> -clarity of the visions changes -- sometimes it's just sound, sometimes it's sight as well  
> -visions last from around 30 seconds to 4 minutes
> 
> enjoy the slowburn hell

Jesse McCree fiddled with the trigger of his Peacekeeper as he sat on the roof of the Panorama diner, swinging his dangling legs and adjusting his hat. He was just waiting for some members of Deadlock to arrive with their payload, and then he could get moving. Finally.

The sun was just rising above the orange backdrop of Route 66, casting a pink-red glow across the sky. McCree watched it for a while, observing the sky change to a more orange shade, then finally lighten into a pale blue, promising a clear, cloudless day.

The shouts and whoops of fellow gang members sounded off to his right, and he grinned as he shoved his revolver in his belt and easily made his way off the roof to join his fellows.

He was 17 now, living his own life and loving it. While not everything he did was entirely legal (or morally correct), McCree tried his best, and did what he could with what came to him. His smooth talk probably helped that along a bit, something he was grateful for. His ma had never approved of his sweet-talking out of every situation, but, well, he didn’t think she’d approve too much of his current arrangement, so there was no point in worrying.

The escort went smoothly, all up until things went to shit.

Their payload had made it to the large, abandoned warehouse with no mishaps to speak of, and McCree was starting to relax. Maybe it’d be another easy day, where he got paid for shooting a few things and was told to move along. He liked those days. He had them to himself.

Then he heard a large _clang_ from inside, and instantly knew it wasn’t going to be one of those days.

He heard them before he saw them. Loud, unperturbed footsteps that didn’t care if anyone heard them rang out on the floor, and he heard the _click_ that signaled weapons being loaded. McCree glanced around to make sure his fellow gang members had heard it too, then turned to see a shotgun aimed straight at his head.

 _What the…? When the hell had this man gotten here?_ McCree had no time for other thoughts, instead lifting his own revolver out of its holster. The man in front of him laughed. “You’re not saving your skin _that_ easily,” he said, before bringing the shotgun up and slamming it down on McCree’s head. McCree had a few seconds to sway dizzily before collapsing into darkness.

* * *

 “Reyes, you could’ve given him a concussion!”

“Yea, well, at least I didn’t.”

“I have to check over him to make _sure_ you didn’t--”

“Oh, shut it, Ziegler. He’ll be fine. A concussion might knock some sense into him.”

McCree heard a loud scoff come from the female, and blearily blinked his eyes open. He was lying on a plain cot in what appeared to be a holding room, walls gray and dismal, but thankfully not painful on his eyes. The sheets underneath him were plain, medical-grade sheets, stiff and mildly itchy. He felt for his Peacekeeper, relieved that it was still there, then looked over at the people in the room.

One was presumably the owner of the female voice, a somewhat shorter woman with bleach blonde hair and… angel wings? Her suit had a Swiss flag on it, though her heritage was also somewhat assumable from her accent. Ziegler, the man had called her.

The other person was tall, probably McCree’s height. He was dark-skinned and wearing all black, and the look on his face (and the size of his thighs) showed that he took shit from no one. He was presumably Reyes.

He also looked to be the one who had knocked him out, if the shotguns on his hips were any indication. McCree gave him the best glare that he could from his position before trying to sit up. The woman immediately took notice, and hurried over to him, a _tsk_ escaping her. “You shouldn’t try to sit up yet,” she informed him, but he simply looked at her and pushed himself up with his arms.

She sighed. “You’re _both_ horrible at listening to the doctor. Wonderful.” She brusquely checked him over, assessing his injuries (a pain in his side and possibly a headache), then looked at him sternly. “If you get dizzy, tell me right away. Gabriel here might’ve given you a concussion--” she glared at the man in question-- “and I want to make sure you’re alright. My name is Angela Ziegler,” she added.

“Mighty thanks, doc. I’ll do that,” McCree muttered, turning to look at Reyes. “So, you wanna explain t’ me why ya knocked me out cold jus’ to bring me here?”

Reyes’ mouth twisted up slightly; whether in amusement or irritation, McCree couldn’t tell. “Watch your tongue, boy. I won’t hesitate to cut it out.”

“He’s only partly kidding, you know,” Angela interjected, and McCree shuddered a little.

Reyes continued as if there’d been no comment. “I’m Reyes here, if you haven’t figured that out. We interrupted your little escort,” he said, with much disdain, “because we took an interest in your talents. _I’m_ here to get you to join.”

McCree peered at him with mild concern. “Who’s been takin’ an interest in me without my knowin’ it?”  
  
Reyes levelled his gaze on McCree. “Overwatch has.”

McCree’s blood ran cold. An organization like Overwatch, finding out about someone like _him_ , and taking an _interest_? Impossible.

“It’s more specifically Blackwatch, Reyes,” Ziegler corrected, and McCree coughed.

“ _Blackwatch_ ? _The_ Blackwatch?” McCree said with minor alarm. Reyes snorted.

“It sure as hell is, kid. What, do you know about us or something?”

“‘Course I do, partner. Blackwatch is about th’ only thing that worried us some in Deadlock. The highly-trained, nearly top-secret program created by Overwatch to do the--” McCree fumbled for words that hopefully wouldn’t upset the intimidating man above him-- “less fortunate work. Full a’ criminals and outlaws.”

Reyes nodded, as if pleased with McCree’s knowledge. “People like you. Which is why Morrison called me in to see if we can’t get you to join.” McCree must’ve looked confused, because Ziegler explained.

“Jack Morrison is strike-commander of Overwatch. Basically the boss of it all. He and Gabe are…” Reyes looked at her, and she seemed to amend what she was going to say. “Good co-workers.”

McCree swallowed. The _boss_ of Overwatch wanted him to join? Hell, how well-known had he gotten?

 _More like how much research did they do, Jesse. Stop inflating your own ego,_ he chastised himself. The voice sounded like his ma, and he resisted the urge to chuckle.

“So, uh, what do I gotta do to join?” McCree’s eyebrows knit together. “Hell, what happens if I refuse?”

“You won’t refuse,” Reyes said bluntly. McCree’s pulse quickened. “Your options are either join us, or rot in a prison cell, on the counts of murder, robbery, arson, and running from the authorities. Your time there would not be pretty.”  
  
“Ouch, soldier, ya wound me. I wasn’t the one who set things on fire, a’right?” Reyes gave him a look that said _I really don’t care_ , and McCree sighed. “Fine. What do I get fer joinin’ y’all?”

“A place to stay, some income, new clothes, and a family,” Reyes replied. McCree raised a brow at the “family” portion, but weighed his options nonetheless.

Spending his years in prison didn’t seem like a viable option whatsoever. He was 17, and wouldn’t break his ma’s heart like that. Besides, if he had somewhere to stay, while still being able to fight like he does best…

McCree looked Reyes straight in the eyes. “I’ll join ya.”

Reyes’ eyes glinted with satisfaction.

“Perfect.”


	2. Soulmates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree is a little shit the whole time, Hanzo is finally mentioned, and Reyes is really gay.
> 
> update: since the Blackwatch McCree skin was released, my idea for his outfit is no longer canon. do I care? probably not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god!! I'm blown away by how much of a response this fic has gotten in only half a day!  
> I was planning on posting this chapter later today, or even tomorrow, but because of that, I'm posting it now!  
> Thank you so much!!

The very next day, he was placed on a mission.

He didn’t think Reyes trusted him enough to go on a mission yet, but here he was, standing with Reyes himself, along with four other Blackwatch members, whose names he hadn’t yet learned. Reyes had told him early on to address him as either “commander” or “sir,” and that wasn’t something McCree was about to mess with. Reyes could be a damn scary man when he wanted.

“Order up,” Reyes barked, and the others fell into line. McCree followed their example, glancing at Reyes for approval, which showed itself in a curt nod. “This is our new recruit, McCree. He’s probably seen some shit, so don’t go giving him lip.”

“Ah, that’s a’right, commander. Ya should instead warn ‘em to watch out for my tongue, lest I use it on ‘em,” McCree remarked, which got a snort out of one of the other members. McCree grinned as Reyes sent him a glare.

“Sure.” Reyes turned to face the group again. “This is a simple recon mission. You get out there, scout, and get back. Do _not_ shoot.” Reyes glanced at McCree, who raised his hands away from his belt, where Peacekeeper was safely holstered.

They’d allowed him to keep his gun, hat, and belt, which was amazing, all things considered. He’d thought they’d give him a standard-issue rifle or something more… legitimate, but it seemed Blackwatch wasn’t too concerned with appearing official. They just needed to get the job done.

He did get a new set of clothes, though. They were much like Reyes’: gray jacket and blue pants covered by a black chestplate, boots, and gloves. The Blackwatch logo on his outfit rested on the outside of his left pant leg, and he’d glance down at it every so often, just to confirm that this was real. It still didn’t feel like it.

Reyes addressed the group once more. “Your commlinks should be used for emergencies only. You should return here within the hour. There will be _words_ for those of you who cannot keep track of time.” He looked at one of the other group members, who swallowed and nodded nervously. He looked so terrified of Reyes, and McCree nearly felt bad for him.

Nearly. Feeling bad for people led to attachments, and those were dangerous in such volatile jobs. One blast could wipe out the ones you cared about, or one shot could hit _you_.

McCree didn’t have time to deal with that. He needed to focus on the mission, right now.

McCree had never had any good luck in things, though, and apparently the universe was determined to royally fuck up his life yet again.

The mission was going smoothly. Almost too smoothly. McCree felt uneasy, like this was going to be a repeat of what happened with Deadlock just… well, yesterday. Like something, or someone, was going to come up and wreck the situation again.

That feeling had never been wrong.

Around a half hour into the mission, McCree had separated from the rest of his team in an effort to split up and cover more ground faster. His scanning had led him to an abandoned warehouse, and, at Reyes’ prompting over the comm, he took a look inside.

Nothing. There was nothing to be found. Not a single weapon, or a single abandoned scrap of paper. Not even a single speck of dust. Nothing.

Wait…

No dust meant someone -- or many someones -- had been here very, very recently. McCree cursed to himself as he went to press the button to speak through the commlink. But just as his hand reached up, his vision went fuzzy. McCree stumbled and put his free hand against the wall, passing it off as the exhaustion of adrenaline wearing off.

Then he sunk to the ground and his vision went black.

* * *

 

_“Hanzo.” A voice to his left spoke. He turned his head and acknowledged the balding man. He really needed to retire already. “You are doing well?”_

_“I am fine, Makoto. Did you need something?”_

_“Indeed, young master. Your brother wishes to train with you.” A smile quirked up on Hanzo’s lips. Genji was always so excited to train with his older brother._

_“You may tell him I will be there momentarily.”_

_“Very good, milord.”_

_Hanzo wished the elders would stop referring to him with such titles, but it couldn’t be helped, apparently. As the heir to the Shimada clan, it was something he would have to live with his whole life._

_He’d survive, he supposed._

* * *

 

“-ree. McCree!” Reyes’ voice shouted in his ear, and McCree opened his eyes with some difficulty. Was he going to wake up to Reyes’ voice every time he blacked out?

It took him a second to realize the voice was coming through the comm, and he pushed himself into a sitting position to be able to press the button on his commlink. “McCree here,” he said sleepily.

“McCree! What the hell have you been doing! You haven’t answered for the past minute and a half!” As if that was a long period of time. McCree was still trying to figure out what had happened, and who the hell this Hanzo dude was, when it clicked.

Hanzo was his soulmate.

And he’d had the wonderful luck of getting the privilege to hear Hanzo’s thoughts for the first time in the middle of a mission.

“Ah, sorry, commander. I believe I, um… had a soulmate vision. Y’know. Those things where ya black out an-”

“I know what the hell they are, McCree. And I really don’t care, so long as you get your ass back to the hangar and tell me what you found.”

“Aye, aye, sir, I’m on it.” McCree jokingly saluted before he realized Reyes couldn’t see him, then made his way to his feet after turning off the speech option on his comm.

While he walked (while still keeping lookout -- he didn’t want to be the one to fire shots and get yelled at), McCree thought about Hanzo. He’d sounded regal, almost like a prince or something, and he’d called himself the heir to the Shimada clan… he’d have to look that up when he got back to base. He wondered if Hanzo had had a vision yet, and what, exactly, he’d seen or heard happening around McCree. What thoughts he’d heard.

McCree shuddered. The thought of a man you didn’t know having the ability to hear your thoughts at any random moment was rather daunting, especially to a young man like him. He hadn’t had anyone he’d loved yet, and although he had taken a fancy to some of the young girls back home, he figured it wasn’t the same. His soulmate was bound to him, in some mysterious way. There was a legitimate connection between the two of them that couldn’t be broken, except if one of them died. He didn’t really want to think about that.

He arrived back at the hangar without a hitch to find Reyes waiting expectantly for him. The others weren’t around -- their hour wasn’t up yet. Reyes gave him a look, and McCree sat down on a nearby collapsable chair , sprawling his legs out and crossing them at the ankles. “There was nothin’ in the warehouse. Nothin’ at all. ‘Cept the scariest part was that there was no dust, either. No sign of disuse. Someone had to have been there, and recently. Though I’d reckon there were more than one of ‘em.”

Reyes cursed in Spanish, his words causing McCree to raise an eyebrow. He understood Spanish just as well as any other native speaker, though he hadn’t been born there. His da had taught him. The stupid bastard had left him after that, though, so McCree didn’t dwell on it much.

That didn’t change the fact that he knew Spanish though. “Mighty fine choice of words there, commander, if I do say so myself. Though I woulda skipped the ‘bastard son of a bitch.’ It sounds a tad redundant.”

Reyes stared at him, then let out a sharp burst of laughter. “You never cease with the surprises, do you,” he muttered, taking off the black beanie he wore and running a hand through his hair.

“Say, where’d you get that cap, sir? It looks mighty fine on ya,” McCree said sarcastically. Reyes glared at him for that.

“Shut up. When we get back we’ll have to assemble a party to scour the area and take out any operatives here.”

McCree looked at him confusedly. “Whadda mean ‘we’, sir? Aren’t you the one in charge here? Or are ya just lumpin’ me in with the rest of y’all so that I don’t feel left out? I’m touched, but don’t you worry, partner. I can take care a’ myself.” Reyes rolled his eyes.

“Your ability to stay in line is impressive. I’ve decided that you’re skilled enough to be able to assist me. Though,” he said, raising an eyebrow at McCree, “If you do anything that gives me cause to be mad, you’ll be relegated to cleaning duty for two weeks.”

“Does collaspin’ on a mission ‘cause of a vision count as somethin’ that makes ya mad? ‘Cause y’know, I can’t control if that happens.” On the inside, though, McCree was giddy. Reyes had already singled him out. What else could Blackwatch offer him?

“Shut your smartmouth, McCree. That’s not something either of us can control. Hell, it happens to me.” McCree gaped at him.

“Ya have a soulmate, commander? Damn, the lucky lady who gets to put up with your shit all the time must really love ya. Wonder what she sees in that head a’ yers.”

“Who ever said it was a she,” Reyes muttered, but stopped McCree immediately before he could say anything. “Don’t say a word, soldier.”

McCree made a zipping motion across his lips. “Not a word, sir,” he agreed. He did wonder who it was, though. If it wasn’t a she, then it couldn’t be Angela. He remembered what she’d said about Reyes and Morrison in the holding room, when she seemed to be about to say something else. Could it be…  
  
Reyes seemed to have caught on to his train of thought, because when he looked up, Reyes was full-on glaring at him. McCree held a hand up and crossed his heart with the other, and that seemed to appease Reyes, because he turned around the next minute to wait for the others to join them.

McCree staunchly ignored any personal conversation with the others, choosing to sit on his own and think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may actually update every day! I have so much inspiration for this fic right now, and I'm determined to use it :3c  
> later on, though, it may take me more than a day to update, as school is starting soon :'(


	3. Past and Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reyes accidentally gets a sad background story and Overwatch is introduced
> 
> another update: yes I know Hanzo's father's name was released. I changed that at least

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 3 is here!  
> i've gotten some comments about being excited to see what hanzo's first vision of mccree is, so i'll give you a hint.  
> it's one of the scenes in this chapter  
> but you don't learn which until later :3c

With Reyes’ approval (he felt like a kid asking his father for permission, which was mildly irritating), he got access to the Blackwatch databases. The first thing he did when he arrived back at base was head for the computer set up in his dorm, and pull up any and all information on the Shimada clan.

 _Based in Japan. Runs illicit weapons trade and deals in drug manufacturing and distribution._ McCree whistled. Hanzo ran a life just about as dirty as his, possibly even more so. It was nice to know he wasn’t the only fucked up one of the pair.

Other than that, there wasn’t too much else of importance. Oldest of two (he figured that out from the vision), uses a sword as a weapon (outdated, but classy), and, best of all, McCree’s age, give or take a few months. McCree was glad he wasn’t stuck with a partner who was 5 years older or something. That’d just be weird at 17.

Days, then weeks passed as he adjusted to life in Blackwatch. His interactions with others were limited to conversing with Reyes and the occasional comment that he couldn’t help but interject, and the others accepted that.

Most of them.

One day, McCree looked up from the book he was reading to see Reyes standing in his doorway. “You busy?” he asked.

McCree shook his head, adjusting his hat as Reyes walked in and found a suitable portion of the wall to lean against, crossing his arms in front of his chest. McCree knew that couldn’t be good. “What’s up, commander?”

“You barely speak with the other recruits.” Reyes said it bluntly, and McCree sighed, marking his place with a dog-ear (making Reyes grimace) before setting the book down.

“Look. You and I both know I had some hard days back in Deadlock, a’right? An’ trust wasn’t somethin’ you gave that easily back then. You trusted someone, they could turn on ya. You got attached to someone, they could die on ya.” McCree swallowed. “With my da, it was the first one. He just… up and left my ma and I. I’ve since learned not ta get too buddy-buddy with people unless necessary. So I apologize if this is unusual for ya, but I’d rather stick to my own ways.” The bitterness in his voice was tangible by the end, and McCree winced. He’d probably get a tongue-lashing from Reyes for speaking like that.

Reyes was silent for a few moments, something out of the ordinary for him. McCree waited for a scalding response, but it never came. Instead, when Reyes spoke, his tone was soft. Coaxing, even.

“Before I joined Overwatch, my life wasn’t easy either. My hometown was constantly overrun by drug cartels. It wasn’t uncommon for people to just… disappear. People you’d known for years.” Reyes’ voice faltered, but he kept speaking. “My _madre_ , she… she was one of those people. It was hard after that. I felt I couldn’t trust anyone. I didn’t want to give my heart to someone in case they left me, or died.

“Then I met Jack.” McCree bit his lip. He had been right. “We joined Overwatch together, after our days in military training. He was this stupid country hick, clueless about every damn thing… but he showed me that trusting people doesn’t always have to hurt. And then I met other Overwatch agents, willing to help me and show me how to trust again.” Reyes cleared his throat, seemingly embarrassed by the sappy words that had just come out of his mouth. “What I’m saying is that people are willing to help. You just have to let them be there for you.”

McCree was shocked as he saw a single tear roll down Reyes’ face. The man seemed so unshakeable, so confident in everything that he did. He hadn’t imagined he’d ever see… _this_. This much vulnerability, this much weakness coming from Reyes. McCree stood up and risked putting a hand on Reyes’ shoulder, and when he didn’t move, McCree spoke.

“…Yer right. It’s just… it’ll take a while. It’s not somethin’ I’m used to.” Reyes nodded, then, with his usual brusqueness, lightly shook McCree’s hand off and turned, walking out. McCree thought he caught a glimpse of Reyes wiping his eyes with his hand, but he couldn’t tell.

The next day, he attempted to mingle with the other recruits, which was met with some cheering and hearty slaps on the back and shouts of, “Hey, the pup’s finally joining the big dogs!” He caught Reyes’ gaze from across the room, and he swore Reyes gave him a thumbs up before he turned away. Maybe his eyesight was failing.

Over the next few months, he gained a few new comrades that he could safely call friends, and he was feeling happy about his new life in Blackwatch. His 18th birthday came and went, and McCree felt somewhat special. He was finally 18. He was his own man.

He had the occasional soulmate vision, though they were all normal, everyday scenes. Some of them were simply sound, where he heard what Hanzo was thinking and nothing else. In others, he heard the conversation as well as Hanzo’s thoughts, but there was still no sight that came with it. The only time that had happened was the first one. McCree assumed it to be a one-time thing.

Through the visions, he learned that Hanzo’s father was named Sojiro, and that Hanzo liked tea on cold mornings, in the afternoon, after dinner… probably anytime. He practiced with the bow in his spare time, though most of his training was devoted to his sword. And McCree learned he had a tattoo, stretching from his left wrist to his shoulder, though of what, he didn’t know. The lack of sight during his visions was a bit frustrating.

Morrison and Reyes apparently collaborated pretty well, because soon enough, a meeting of Overwatch and Blackwatch members was scheduled. McCree paced nervously the day of it, unsure of what to expect. Were they all high-collared, strict professionals? Did they act anything at all like Reyes did?

McCree’s worries were pointless, it turned out. A man named Reinhardt had been the first to greet him, and though his towering figure was rather imposing, he had quickly assured McCree that they were all just a bunch of kids trying to save the world with plastic hammers and nerf guns. McCree _definitely_ hadn’t giggled a bit at that.

He met Angela again, and this time she was with a girl named Fareeha. She was probably only 13 or so, but had the most adorable face, and McCree immediately took to her. Her mother, Ana, had looked him over once, peered at Reyes, who held his hands up in surrender, and turned back to him. “You’ll do,” she’d said. McCree was still bewildered by it.

By the end of it all, McCree still hadn’t met Jack. He cautiously approached Angela about it, who cheerfully pointed him in the direction of the hallway of rooms at the back of the complex they were in. “Third door on your left. And,” she said, glancing around, “Gabe doesn’t seem to be here right now, so you might want to knock.”

McCree had raised an eyebrow at her implication, but proceeded in that direction all the same, nervousness building. He wrung his hands together, adjusted his hat slightly, then, when he arrived in front of the door, knocked a few times.

There were a few moments before any response came, and McCree was getting slightly worried when a muffled voice said, “Come in.” McCree cautiously pushed open the door.

Reyes stood off to the side, beanie askew and pants shifted awkwardly and _oh Angela had been right_. He nearly chuckled to himself, then took notice of the man standing next to Reyes.

He was the exact same height, meaning he was as tall as McCree, with shock blonde hair and bright blue eyes. McCree could immediately tell how this man had been the one to knock some emotion into Reyes. He looked like a man who could get you to do _anything_ by looking at you right.

He took in McCree’s appearance, McCree shifting awkwardly on his feet as he did so. Then Morrison spoke. “McCree, I presume. Gabe has told me you’ve been a great asset to Blackwatch.” Reyes flushed and hissed something in Morrison’s ear, something that McCree couldn’t quite catch. Jack just smiled. “Good work, soldier.”

“Thank ya kindly, commander.” McCree tipped his hat even as he noticed Jack’s collar was mussed. He thought he could even make out the red of a freshly made mark, then internally grimaced. That was _not_ something he needed (or wanted) to be imagining. “I’ll get out of yer hair, then. Jus’ wanted ta meet the famous commander,” he said, flashing a grin. He nodded to Morrison, sent a wink towards Reyes (who growled and made a slicing motion across his neck), and left the room, closing the door behind him.

He heard the lock click as he walked away, whistling softly.


	4. Blacking Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a really bad timeskip, Reyes is comforting but also a dick, and things go downhill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyyyyy here's chapter 4 :^)  
> this one has limb loss. you've been warned

4 years passed as McCree became more and more comfortable in Blackwatch. He saw Fareeha grow into her teenage self, slowly but surely. He saw Angela become more absorbed in her work, grow more distant, yet also more mature. He himself did the same -- now 22, he’s seen a lot more shit than he had back in Deadlock, some of which he doesn’t want to think about.

But it’s been fun. Reyes still looks like he has a hopeless puppy crush on Morrison, Torbjörn and Reinhardt still bicker about everything… things are normal.

Except his visions of Hanzo.

He now knows Hanzo’s been having soulmate visions of him. He sometimes hears a “I wonder if McCree is watching” run through Hanzo’s head, and afterward, he’ll smile, and make an attempt to think, “I wonder if Hanzo is watching” at every opportunity. Just in case.

But his visions of Hanzo have shown him to be more volatile than he first thought. He’s often in a training room, only thoughts of “have to beat my brother” and “need to impress father” running through his mind. McCree wake up from these in a cold sweat and head to the training area himself, feeling the need to blow off some steam. Sometimes he’ll run into Reyes, and they’ll train together, focusing on aim and sparring.

Oh, right. And then there’s the thing with Reyes.

Reyes had walked in on him one night as McCree was, as the team called it, “releasing excess energy.” The non-fancy term was masturbating. McCree had pulled a blanket over himself and, as calmly as possible, asked what Reyes needed.

There had been a brief pause, before Reyes had said, “Do you trust me?” Coming from Reyes, it had been rather baffling, but McCree had nodded anyway. “Good,” Reyes had said, pulling the blanket down and grabbing a bottle of lube from his pocket. “Then I know you’ll tell me to stop if you need.”

Reyes had given him possibly the best fuck of his life, then disappeared, with McCree waking up to an empty bed and some rather inappropriate memories. Reyes didn’t directly talk to him that day, or the next, but they eventually fell back into their old routine. A month later, the whole thing happened again. So McCree decided to ask Reyes what the hell was up.

“McCree,” Reyes greeted him as he stepped into his commander’s office. “What do you need?”

“I wanna know why we’ve been doin’… this.” McCree gestured between them. “Why you’ve jus’ been comin’ in, fuckin’ my lights out, then leavin’ like nothin’ happened. S’not normal.”

Reyes had a calculated expression on his face, like he was trying to conceal whatever emotions were trying to show. Then he sighed and leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his beanie-less hair. “I’ve had some fights with Jack recently. They didn’t end up too well. So I…”

McCree had gotten the gist of it by now, and he interrupted Reyes. “A’right, so ya had a fight with none other than yer _soulmate_ , and then, ‘cause yer havin’ a pity party for yerself, ya go and find the _next_ best guy to fuck, which happened ta be me. Is that it?” When Reyes didn’t reply, McCree scoffed. “Yer real mature, there, Reyes. Why don’t ya find someone _else_ to lay with, rather than leadin’ me ta think there’d be somethin’ more between us, huh? I’m tired of ya tryin’ to use me for yer own ends.” With that, McCree turned on his heel and walked out, trying not to think too hard about what he had just said.

Sure, he had a puppy crush on Reyes. He’d had one for ages now, and had eventually just accepted it for what it was. But both of them had a soulmate. Both of them were, in the most liberal sense of the word, engaged. It wouldn’t do for the two of them to be… fooling around like this. McCree wanted to stop it as much as he wanted it to continue.

After that, Reyes stopped. Presumably he found another person to mess around with, or simply stopped having so many fights with Jack that he couldn’t deal with on his own. McCree told himself he was fine with it. And so life continued.

A few months later, things went downhill.

He was out on a mission again. At this point, it seemed like everything bad happened on a mission. It was a joint Overwatch and Blackwatch operation -- Overwatch had had to call in more people, and who better than their own elite division?

McCree was in a group with Reyes, Morrison, and Ana. Angela was back at the hangar, there for medical emergencies, while the others -- Torbjörn, Reinhardt, and a now 16-year-old Fareeha (Ana had protested this to no end) -- were on the other side of the field. They were to do a sweep of the area, take out any and all operatives, and secure the payload of weaponry to ensure it didn’t fall into the wrong hands (specifically Talon). Their pseudo-war with Talon had been going on for months now, and there seemed no end in sight until they managed to disrupt some of Talon’s operations.

And so they were on this mission. Morrison and Reyes seemed to determined to be separated -- it looked like they’d fought again -- so Ana proposed going with Reyes while Morrison stayed with McCree. McCree was fine with that. While he’d become good friends with Ana, it was a bit of a relief to not have to put up with her motherly nagging for an entire mission. McCree felt a bit of apprehension at working alongside Overwatch’s strike-commander, though. It wasn’t every day that he got to see Morrison in action.

As it turned out, Morrison was just as skilled as Reyes, and possibly even more so, in McCree’s opinion.  He missed almost no shots, and was helpful in every way possible with his biotic field. McCree had never had a higher opinion of anyone than he did of Morrison right then.

Their section appeared clear after a few minutes. McCree had easily taken out a couple of Talon operatives with a well-placed flashbang and a fan of Peacekeeper’s hammer, and he perked up a lot at the, “Well done” that came from Morrison afterward. He hummed to himself, happy, then made to move forward.

McCree heard a shout from Morrison behind him, and made to turn, but searing pain shot through his arm as soon as he moved. He cried out and fell to the ground, curling around his arm and trying to protect it from further harm. McCree heard more of Morrison’s yelling, something along the lines of, “He’s been hit, call Angela!” before he lost consciousness.

* * *

  _Nothing happened for a few moments, then Hanzo, with a startled cry, was forced out of the vision. He tried to take long, slow breaths, but he couldn’t concentrate. McCree had been shot. He’d been shot in the arm. He had_ seen _McCree get shot. Oh god, was he okay? Would he be okay? Surely Blackwatch had a medic that could help. He had to be okay, he_ had _to…_

_Hanzo felt a tear run down his face, and jerked. He hadn’t realized he’d grown this attached to McCree just from a few visions. “Please, McCree,” he whispered to himself. “Promise me you’ll be okay.”_

_“Be okay for me.”_

* * *

 McCree came to just as Reyes growled, with a note of worry in his voice, “This damn kid can’t keep out of trouble, can he.”

He really was doomed to hear Reyes every time he woke up from passing out.

McCree wanted to open his eyes, but the pain in his arm hadn’t dissipated; rather, it had grown, sending shocks of pain every time he tried to adjust any part of himself. McCree groaned, his brain frantically trying to keep up.

Hanzo had seen him get shot. He was _worried_ about McCree. McCree supposed he should feel touched, but it was hard when your arm was hurting like the devil himself had taken up residence there and was currently torching everything. Every nerve sang with pain, and McCree didn’t even want to think about moving his fingers. He simply whimpered as someone picked him up, presumably Reyes by the way the arms under him and the chest next to him felt, and the voice saying, “C’mon, kid, just a bit longer and then we’ll have you with Angela.”

McCree felt he should respond, but couldn’t make his mouth cooperate with the effort. He instead moved his head in an attempt at a nod and, finally, passed out again.

* * *

 “-lost his arm above the elbow. The bullet shattered the joint completely. I’ll have to make a suitable prosthetic for him.” Angela. Her voice was soothing to him, and McCree was silently glad it wasn’t Reyes greeting him yet again.

“Will he be able to fight again once he has it?” Oh. There was Reyes’ voice. Darn it.

“He should be able to, but he’ll have to get used to his new arm. You’ll have to give him time, Reyes,” Angela said softly, and Reyes grumbled but sighed.

“Don’t worry, Gabi. He’ll be back in no time.” That was Morrison.

“I hope so, Jack. I wouldn’t like to lose one of my finest soldiers.” McCree opened his eyes just in time to see Morrison and Reyes clasp hands, Reyes leaning in to rest his head on Morrison’s shoulder. It seemed they’d gotten over whatever they’d been fighting about -- for now, at least.

Angela immediately noticed he was awake, and came rushing over, glancing at the equipment around him. “How do you feel? Any pain anywhere?”

McCree thought for a second, then replied, “I prob’bly have a headache, doc. The rest a’ me’s fine.” McCree winced, remembering what Angela had said. “Well, what’s _left_ of the rest a’ me.”

Angela made a sympathetic face at him, then reached for the blanket covering him. “Would you like to see?”

“Yes,” McCree said quietly, and she pulled the blanket down to around his waist. He noticed that he wasn’t wearing a shirt, then looked at his left arm.

The limb ended just above his elbow, the skin red and irritated. Stitches ran across and around the stump of an arm, and he could tell there’d be horrible scarring there for his whole life.

It was jarring to look at what had used to be a whole arm and see only part of it. He looked up at Angela, eyes wide. “I feel like I should be able to move my fingers, but I can’t. There’s nothin’--” He cut himself off with a sob, and Angela rested a hand on his shoulder. His right shoulder.

“For now, this will take some getting used to. As soon as you are more comfortable with this, I’ll fit you with a prosthetic arm that will function exactly like a normal arm. Like I told Gabe, this will take time.”

McCree stared down at his partial limb for a few more moments, heart frantically pounding against his chest. What would his ma say to this? How would she react to knowing her son is all grown up and he just lost a _limb_? Would he really be able to fight again, even with a prosthetic? What would Reyes think of him if he couldn’t? Hell, what does Reyes think of him right now?

The man in question must’ve seen something written on McCree’s face, because moments later, Reyes was extracting himself from Morrison and had sat on the end of McCree’s cot. Angela and Morrison had suddenly vacated, leaving just the two of them.

“Look,” Reyes began. “I know I’m not the best person to talk to, and what I say isn’t always helpful, but I’m asking you to listen anyway.” Reyes took a breath. “You don’t have to get over this in a day. You won’t be able to. Angela’s usually right about these things. And it doesn’t matter how long it takes, whether it’s three weeks or three months, but I want you back on my team. You’re important, McCree, despite the fact that you don’t realize it.” Reyes brought a hand up and gently touched McCree’s face. “You’re strong, Jesse. We believe in you.”

And that’s when McCree broke down, his only fist balling in Reyes’ shirt as he leaned in, pressing his head into Reyes’ chest. Tears fell, creating a wet spot on the gray material, but McCree couldn’t care, not when Reyes was wrapping his arms around him like he was and holding him there. He cried for his arm, mostly. He cried for his ma, for when she found out he was like this. He cried for Hanzo, who had no idea he was fine and safe and who possibly didn’t know that McCree loved him just as much as Hanzo loved McCree.

It was a long while before he moved again, and when he did, it was only to shift a bit, changing positions so that his cheek wasn’t pressed up against the wet patch he’d made on Reyes’ shirt. Reyes’ large hands still rested on his back, keeping him there and giving him a sense of comfort, and McCree relaxed under the touch.

Maybe everything would turn out okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize. i couldn't help but add mcreyes in there  
> also i hate timeskips but this one was necessary


	5. Replacing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree gets a new arm and Reyes is actually pretty nice to him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my alt title while working on this was "i know nothing about prosthetics so i'm making this all up"  
> woop here's chapter 5

The next few weeks were hard. McCree stayed in the medical center, Angela coming in to check on his arm every day. Reyes was the next frequent visitor, getting away when he could and just sitting with McCree, sometimes talking, sometimes not. Morrison came a few times, and once, Ana brought Fareeha. They encouraged him to tell them about his ma, and so he did, telling them of how she’d make the best southern soul food you’d ever dream to eat, and how she was always whistling, no matter the time. How she’d dote on you constantly if you were sick, and just as constantly if you weren’t. How she’d knit in her free time, and how all of McCree’s blankets were made by her, she worked so fast.

It helped to talk to people. It helped him forget he was missing part of himself. He wondered if Hanzo had had any more visions recently -- if he knew McCree was fine. Mostly.

Sometimes, McCree tried to reach for something with his left hand, or tried to push himself up with both hands, before realizing, and he’d sink back onto the bed with a pained look and ask to be alone.

No one questioned him. As part of Overwatch, or Blackwatch, they’d seen plenty of this. They all knew it took time.

Reyes, the insistent man he was, managed to convince McCree to walk around a bit, a month after the mission. McCree winced as he stumbled onto his feet -- a month of nearly always sitting around wasn’t good on the muscles.

Reyes kept an arm around his waist as McCree wandered, helping him stay upright sometimes if he tripped a little. McCree wasn’t used to feeling this clumsy. He supposed it was the lack of an arm that was throwing him off. That and not walking around for a while.

He spent a lot of time looking at his stump. As much as he hated it, it was part of him. He watched as the stitches came out after a few weeks, and raised, white scars took their place. Angela said it was healing well, which he supposed he should be thankful for.

A few days after Reyes got him to go outside, Angela came in, holding what looked like a metal arm. McCree peered at it, and yep, it was _definitely_ a metal arm. It was silver and gray, and had the shine of new metal.

“I’ve completed your prosthesis, McCree. Would you like to take a look at it first?”

“Yes please, doc,” McCree said, and Angela handed him the prosthetic. He handled it delicately at first, but realized it was much sturdier than its weight suggested. The fingers were made of interlocking joints that prevented them from pinching skin when bent, and the joint for the elbow functioned with the help of a metal piece that allowed the whole thing to rotate at the joint. McCree studied it, wondered how it’d feel, then told Angela, “Can you put it on today?”

“Of course.” McCree handed her the prosthetic, and she fussed with it for a minute before situating herself on McCree’s left side. McCree willingly held up his stump of an arm for her.

She held up a small piece of metal that looked to have computer parts in it, about two inches long and barely half an inch wide. “I'll have to put three of these on your arm. This is how your prosthetic will stay on, and how the signals from your brain will transmit to your arm to make it move. This may hurt,” she warned, and McCree nodded as he gripped the sheets.

She carefully placed the three metal sensors where she needed them, attaching them with some kind of adhesive that made his skin jolt with electric shocks as she put them on. It was a bit painful, and McCree grit his teeth as she placed the last one on.

“We'll give these a few minutes, and then we can see how your prosthetic fits.” McCree nodded and leaned back against the wall, ignoring the lingering shocks from the sensors.

Angela did a quick analysis of his arm, then picked up the prosthetic from where she had set it on the cot next to him. “Ready? she asked. McCree nodded.

She aligned the prosthetic, then slowly slid it into place, McCree hearing a small _click_ as it locked. A jolt went through his entire arm, and suddenly he could move his fingers.

McCree stared. The metal hand moved exactly when he wanted it to, with no delay. He gave an experimental wiggle of his fingers, and they responded, and when he bent his arm, the prosthetic moved easily along the joint.

Angela analyzed the response of the prosthetic, then looked at him. “How does it feel?”

McCree felt like crying from happiness. “It feels 'xactly like a real arm, doc.” He looked down at it again in awe.

Angela tapped her finger against a small button near the top of it. “This will release it. You may not have to take it off for changing, but it's sometimes nice to let your arm breathe. Keep that in mind,” she told him.

“Yes ma’am,” he said. “I-- I don't know how I can thank ya, doc. This is…” McCree couldn't find words suddenly, a strange thing for him.

“Knowing that you appreciate it is thanks enough for me, McCree. It's what I'm here for.” Angela smiled kindly at him, and McCree smiled back happily.

Over the next few days, Reyes came to visit him several times, seemingly to check in on him. McCree had already asked Angela how long it'd be until he was ready to train again, but she said it'd only happen when he was fully adjusted.

He knew she was right. He still sometimes overreached, or knocked over things when he went to grab something with his metal arm. He didn't even want to try fanning Peacekeeper's hammer, lest he accidentally smack himself in the face or, worse, knock the gun and fire elsewhere.

So he sat with Reyes when he visited, and practiced. Reyes brought things for him to use, like a pencil for writing and stress balls. McCree worked on building confidence in his arm, so that he could be completely assured of his capabilities while fighting.

He had another vision while he was getting used to his arm. Hanzo didn't seem to be worrying about McCree's arm anymore, which McCree was thankful for. He did feel touched that he'd been worried over, but he didn't want Hanzo to worry too much over him.

There was a very high chance that the two of them would never meet. They lived in different countries, spoke different languages, did different things for a living. The possibility of them finding each other without actively looking was pretty low, and McCree had almost no plans to leave Blackwatch unless necessary.

He held out hope that he'd be able to meet Hanzo someday, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize for not being able to end chapters well  
> there's two more timeskips in the next chapter i'm really sorry this is what i get for starting a fic 20 years before the actual canon time period


	6. Dishonor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter, but take it.
> 
> Also I'm about to reach 10k words for this fic! I'm so happy about the response this fic has gotten!!  
> I'm not sure how much longer this fic will be. Definitely at least two more chapters

McCree was living on his own now, 6 years after he got his prosthetic. He’d left Blackwatch two years ago -- before rogue groups could take it over fully. He didn’t think he could live with seeing the Blackwatch he knew torn down into a small terrorist organization, likely run by Talon. So he had left, despite his previous statement that he had no plans to leave, and traveled the world by himself, working as a vigilante. He wanted to make up for all the people he’d killed. He only took up jobs that, to him, were morally safe. He vowed to right his previous wrongs.

He also wanted to forget the Swiss base… accident. He’d never thought that Reyes would betray him, betray Morrison to pursue his own ends. But he had. And now he and Morrison were dead. And Reyes had sold Blackwatch out.

McCree really didn’t want to think about that.

So here he was, back at Route 66, his old haunt. He’d visited his ma earlier, but couldn’t stop replaying the scene in his head. His ma’s face, when she saw that he was alive and safe. The equally horrified look when she noticed his arm. He’d tried to not make a big deal out of it, but his ma noticed everything, and he’d spent a half hour crying in her arms, his ma shushing him and holding him like she used to.

And here McCree had thought he’d grown out of crying and being held like a little kid.

He made his way past achingly familiar buildings, now run-down and empty. Big Earl’s, the sign on top deteriorating and the roof rusting. The Panorama Diner, still bearing “wanted” posters with his face on it (he was amazed they'd held up over the years). He passed the strange cave that he and some of his Deadlock “friends” would explore for hours, hoping to find gold or some treasure.

He eventually decided on sitting on top of one of the wrecked train cars that lay in front of the diner. He studied them as he pulled out a cigar and lit it -- he’d picked up the habit after the explosion. They’d clearly been here only recently, but seemed to merge with the rest of the gorge like they were meant to be there. Perhaps they were.

McCree went to take another drag of his cigar, then froze. His vision was starting to go blurry, which meant…

Another vision.

* * *

  _“You have tarnished the clan’s honor, Genji!” Genji stood across from him, blade drawn and with a distressed look on his face._

_“Brother, pleas--”_

_“Silence! You will pay for what you have done!” Hanzo came at him swinging, and Genji blocked haphazardly, stumbling a little. “Will you not fight me like a man?” Hanzo asked. “Will you only block my sword to the point of exhaustion?”_

_“Brother, you don’t have to do this. Please, go, talk to the elders. Make them understand. I don’t want you to do this, Hanzo!”_

_Hanzo curled one side of his mouth into a sneer. “You think I do not_ want _to do this?” Genji’s stricken face stared at him. “You are not worthy of continuing the Shimada legacy. You are not worthy to even speak my name!” Hanzo attacked him again, Genji blocking with more urgency this time._

_“Hanzo, I--!” Genji was cut off by Hanzo’s katana bearing down on him. He swung out of the way, but didn’t take advantage of the easy position to attack._

_Hanzo’s disdain grew. “So you will not fight back? Are you just accepting your death?” Hanzo brought his katana up and swung hard at Genji, who blocked Hanzo hard enough to chip the blade. The piece went flying off to the side somewhere, but neither brother cared. Genji was sweating slightly, adjusting his grip on his katana so that he hopefully didn’t drop it. Hanzo could feel the worry coming off of him in waves._

_Hanzo always was the stronger brother._

* * *

 McCree sat up, gasping and clutching his chest. _Hanzo…_ he thought, then suddenly things went hazy again. _Oh, no…_

* * *

  _Genji lay curled up on the floor, protecting one of his arms. Hanzo advanced on him, katana flashing blue. “You’ve lost, brother,” Hanzo sneered, using his blade to tilt Genji’s face up to look at Hanzo. “I’ve always known that I could beat you. You’ve always known that I could beat you. And here’s the proof.” Hanzo leveled his katana directly at Genji’s face. “What would father say, seeing you like this?”_

 _“Father is_ dead _,” Genji spat. “He cannot see the injustice you’re committing.”_

_“Can he not? Shall I send him to you and see?” Hanzo lifted Genji up by his shoulder -- the shoulder of his wounded arm -- and Genji cried out as Hanzo pressed the katana to his neck. Hanzo made a shallow cut there, then pulled away, letting Genji collapse again._

_“So weak, brother. Was this the price you were willing to pay for fooling around and bringing dishonor to the family?”_

_Genji struggled to prop himself up with one arm and looked up at Hanzo. “You are the one bringing dishonor, brother,” he managed to get out. Hanzo’s eyes widened, then narrowed, and he brought the hilt of his katana down on Genji’s collarbone. Genji cried out, the sound getting cut off by Hanzo pressing the blade into the back of his neck._

* * *

 McCree sat up again, hands scrabbling to find something to grab, chest heaving, arms shaking. He clutched the material of his pants frantically, nearly tearing it with his prosthetic hand as he fought to calm down. _Hanzo… my soulmate just…_

McCree couldn’t even think it. He sat there as his breathing slowed and his heart stopped racing, but even when it was done, he couldn’t think the words. As if saying them would make them be true, as if it were all a nightmare he was trying to forget.

_Why?_

Why would Hanzo do that? He’d heard Hanzo talk about Genji “bringing dishonor,” but what could Genji do that would give Hanzo cause to… to do _that_?

His head was also reeling from the multiple visions. It was known to happen, but very rarely, and never in such quick succession. He was probably going to have a headache for ages at this rate.

McCree groaned and put his head in his hands. He wasn’t sure how he’d face Hanzo, if he ever met him, with this knowledge. He supposed it’d be an awkward first encounter for the both of them.

* * *

 A few years later, he joined Overwatch.

It may have been for shits and giggles. It may have been so that he could see his old friends again -- Angela, Reinhardt, Fareeha… all of them. He wasn’t entirely sure why

There were a lot of new members this time around. There was Amélie, a French woman with a skill for sniping that rivalled Ana’s. Jamison, a young Australian with an affinity for explosives, accompanied by tall, silent Mako. Lena and Lúcio were the youngest members, both 19 and full of energy and speed McCree would never be able to achieve. There was also a man named Soldier: 76, who reminded McCree so much of Morrison that it hurt to be around him for too long. Too many scenes of him and Reyes, happy and alive, filled his head.

One member caught his eye, though. A cyborg, with a strangely familiar accent and an even more familiar name.

Genji.

The first few days, McCree thought long and hard on where he’d heard that name, but couldn’t come up with it. Then he’d seen Genji flash his katana, and realization hit him.

He approached Genji a week later, determined to speak with him.

“Hello, McCree,” Genji greeted him warmly. McCree’s mouth twitched up in a smile, and he tipped his hat.

“Hey there. I was… well, I was wonderin’. You wouldn’t happen to be Genji Shimada, would ya? Like, _the_ Genji Shimada?”

Genji tilted his head curiously, like he was raising an eyebrow under his faceplate. “Yes, I am.”

“A’right. This is gonna be awkward.” McCree shuffled his feet and cleared his throat before speaking. “Yer brother, Hanzo… he’s my soulmate. And ya see, I had one a’ those visions a few years back, y’know, and I may or may not have seen him… kill you.”

Genji stood silently for a moment, and McCree inwardly cursed the fact that Genji had no facial expressions to read. It made it terribly hard for McCree to tell what he was thinking. Then Genji shifted a little and spoke.

“Do you know why he did?”

McCree bit his lip. “No. I’m a bit curious, though. It isn’t everyday that yer soulmate has cause to, uh, commit siblicide.” McCree tilted his head. “Is that even a word?”

Genji seemed to chuckle a bit. “Yes it is. And you are right, that is not an everyday occurrence.” Genji sighed before continuing. “I did a few things that upset the clan elders. Drinking, staying out all night, sleeping around… all normal for me. After the death of my father -- our father -- the elders urged Hanzo to curb my behavior. It appears they were of a like mind on _how_ he was to do it.”

McCree whistled lowly. “So… what? Do ya hate yer brother? I wouldn’t blame ya if so. He did kill ya -- or, tried to,” McCree added, looking pointedly at Genji’s cybernetic body.

Genji probably would’ve smiled, had McCree been able to see his face. “I do not hate him. I’ve forgiven Hanzo for his past mistakes. And I have Angela to thank for my continued survival. She is truly a talented doctor.” McCree raised an eyebrow.

“Ya sure have a high tolerance for mistakes, if you’ve forgiven Hanzo for that,” McCree pointed out.

“I stayed with an Omnic monk for a time after Angela helped form my new body. He was my mentor, and taught me forgiveness and peace in the face of other’s turmoil.” His voice was distant, as if he were remembering fonder times. “I owe a lot to Zenyatta.”

McCree smiled. “Well then, I hope Hanzo is as forgivin’ to himself as you are ta him. Fer both yer sake and mine.”

“Indeed,” Genji agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the mchanzo discord for encouraging me to write about these two idiots  
> Special thanks to sylph, for yelling with me about reaper76 all the time


	7. Back from the Grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the obligatory reaper76 filler chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the important a/n for this chapter: I went "fuck the timeline" and put the Explosion before the disbanding of ow. fuck blizzard's timeline

Over the next year, McCree grew closer to the new members of Overwatch. He spent a lot of time around Lena and Lúcio, amazed by their constant energy. Lena was always cheerful, always able to spare a minute or two to chat, no matter what. Lúcio offered to make a playlist of songs for McCree, which he happily agreed to. He could use some good music.

Winston had been established as the leader of Overwatch in Morrison’s… absence. He was as friendly and capable as Morrison himself had been, and McCree was happy about it.

McCree also started spending more time with Soldier: 76 -- or, as Lúcio jokingly liked to call him, “Dad.” McCree supposed he kind of  _ was _ the team dad: he made sure all of them had snacks when they went on missions, he watched over them when they tussled in the training yard, all of it. Whenever he talked to McCree, he was friendly, if gruff. McCree’s eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to the scar not hidden by his visor -- he wondered how bad the scarring was underneath it, too.

One day, he was so caught up in conversation with 76 that it almost felt like he was back in Blackwatch, talking to Morrison about current activity. He wasn’t paying attention to what he said, and it was only after the fact that he realized he’d called 76 “Morrison.”

76 had stilled, almost imperceptibly, then politely asked, “Who was he?”

McCree had sat a minute before replying, his eyes not looking at anything in particular. “A mentor. A commander.” McCree’s voice faltered. “A friend.”

McCree didn’t speak much to 76 after that. He supposed he felt too embarrassed after his blunder, and since 76 didn’t actively seek him out, he assumed it was fine.

Life in Overwatch was better than that of Blackwatch, or when he was out on his own -- that was for sure. But McCree felt like he needed a challenge, like when Reyes put him out on a solo mission to take out a dozen rogue gang members with the added difficulty of not being able to use his flashbangs. And he’d done it, alright, and with only minor injuries. Those were the times when he felt alive.

Apparently the universe listened to him sometimes, because a few weeks later, an attack from Talon came.

They weren’t caught unprepared -- Overwatch could never be caught unprepared, not as an elite group of soldiers and, as they called some, “experiments.” But it was a jarring battle for them.

First, Amélie was taken. McCree hadn’t seen that happen, only heard that it had.

Second, Morrison and Reyes were alive.

McCree had seen that one firsthand.

McCree was caught up in the thick of it, firing bullets and praying that he didn’t hit his teammates. Luckily, it seemed like he hadn’t, and the small break that awaited him gave him time to reload and scan around him.

Lena and Lúcio were nowhere to be found -- typical. They moved too fast to be seen, anyway. Amélie seemed to be missing too, but, well, she was always off by herself. No biggie. Reinhardt and Ana stuck close together, along with Fareeha, who hovered in the air above her mother, rockets firing down upon enemies. Genji, who was almost as quick as Lena herself, was proving to be a major distraction to the enemy team, flitting in one second, then disappearing the next. Helpful.

He turned to look at his other side -- and froze. 76 was standing there, rifle relaxed at his side and removing his visor as he looked at  _ him _ .

Reaper.

He was the newest Talon agent, a highly-trained soldier who ate the souls of his enemies and killed without remorse. He could supposedly turn into shadow, which meant that he was basically impossible to kill.

And here he was, staring at 76, unmoving.

McCree was more than confused. Why was 76 not doing anything? Why was  _ Reaper _ not doing anything? Then Reaper reached up his hand, and a small  _ click _ was heard as he removed his mask.

McCree sucked in a breath. He looked so familiar, but it couldn’t be… there was no way…

76 breathed a single name into the still air. “Gabe.” And Reaper reacted, jerking his head back as he took 76 in and whispered, “Jack.”

McCree stood stock still as the two soldiers looked at each other, watched each other.  _ How _ … 

Reaper -- no, Reyes -- spoke first. “How the hell are you alive, fucker.”

76, Morrison now, scoffed. “I should be asking the same of you. Though it seems your current state isn’t living, really. You’re a walking shadow.”

“I am  _ death _ . And you really don’t look much better. Finally feeling old age?”

“Too bad you’ll be stuck here forever after I die,  _ soulmate _ . You sure don’t look like you could outlive me, but since you’re supposedly death, I guess the universe is finally gonna let you one-up me.”

“Very funny, Jack. You always knew I was gonna outlive you.”

“Oh, did I? Must’ve slipped my mind.”

Reyes rolled his eyes, glancing over to the side as he did, and McCree bit his lip when Reyes finally saw him standing there, revolver half-raised, unsure of whether to shoot or speak. “Well, if it isn’t McCree. You came running back, did you? You wanted to be with your,” he paused, sneering, “ _ family  _ again.”

McCree’s eyes widened, and he nearly took a step back. This wasn’t his Reyes. His Reyes wasn’t bitter, or unnecessarily cruel. Reyes must’ve seen something on his face, because he smiled, a twisted, grotesque thing that took his face and warped it. “Aww, did I hurt your feelings, Jesse? I forgot how vulnerable you are.” The use of his first name sent shivers down his spine.

“Gabe, stop it,” Morrison said. Reyes thankfully turned away from McCree to face Morrison, and McCree sighed softly in relief. “If you’re going to fight someone, let it be me. Let’s end this how it should’ve before.”

Reyes scoffed. “I’m not looking to fight. Sadly, I’ve got orders not to kill anyone in this little battle. But,” he said, smirking, “you’d better watch your back, Jackie. I’ll be coming for you soon.” With that, Reyes’ body slowly dissipated into smoke, and he swirled once, twice around the two of them before speeding off.

McCree let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He looked over at Morrison, who was looking at the place where Reaper -- Reyes -- had disappeared, as if he was sad to see him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize for the late update! all my inspo for this fic flew out the window a few days ago and i haven't gotten around to getting it back. i ended this chapter a little abruptly, but i hope you still liked it


	8. Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo is an actual character now and poor McCree is awkward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woot they finally meet  
> can you catch the implied widowtracer and genyatta :^))

The next few weeks were painful. Lena moped about (it was terrifying to see such a happy-go-lucky girl so miserable) after the disappearance of Amélie, and 76 -- _Morrison_ , he reminded himself -- was almost nowhere to be seen unless duty called. The base was near silent most of the time, the only interruptions being the quiet sound of Lúcio’s music through his headphones and the occasional grinding of the coffee maker.

Ana spent more time with Morrison now. She'd been good friends with him back before the explosion, and now that she knew he was alive, McCree supposed she wanted to catch up with him. He didn't blame her.

McCree spent a lot of time thinking too. He was still a bit shaken by Reyes’s words to him. What had changed Reyes so much to make him so… cruel?

A surprising source of comfort was actually Genji. The cyborg offered to train with him, and McCree accepted, seeing it as a way to get his mind off of recent events. He started spending more time with Genji, both on and off the training area. Genji reminded him a lot of Hanzo, honestly. Perhaps that was why McCree enjoyed his company.

McCree had a vision once in Genji's presence. He couldn't make out much of the voices around Hanzo, but he did know what Hanzo was thinking to himself.

_Run away._

* * *

The biggest shock came when Overwatch was disbanded.

5 months after the Talon attack that took Amélie, 5 months after she was returned, only to kill her own husband in his sleep, 4 months after she went back to Talon and joined their ranks, Overwatch was shut down.

They couldn't protect the citizens. How could they if they fought amongst themselves? Did the world even _need_ Overwatch anymore? McCree heard a lot like that and more, before the announcement came.

He figured it would be a relief to be free of the organization, to live his own life yet again and try to make it better. He didn't think he'd ever see his fellow agents ever again, unless they met by chance somewhere, someplace.

He wasn't expecting a recall 6 years later.

McCree was 37, leaving his prime and considering settling down, but damn if he'd pass up a chance to see -- and fight with -- his old friends.

He wondered if Genji would show up. McCree had heard that he’d been spending a lot of time with the omnic Zenyatta recently. Would he leave Zenyatta to come fight? Or maybe he’d take Zenyatta with him. Were monks even allowed to fight?

McCree shook his head. He wasn’t the one to determine these things -- why worry about them? He just hoped Genji would be there. He’d become a good friend to McCree.

The first few weeks of the new Overwatch were… different. Older members were still getting used to the new recruits, and the new members had to get used to the camaraderie between the older people.

It all worked out, eventually. Hana, the now-youngest and most-popular member (she went by D.Va on-stage) quickly became friends with Lúcio, and they traded music and cheered each other on. It was very cute. And, as it turned out, Zenyatta had accompanied Genji, and the two seemed inseparable. The new members slowly became comfortable around the old ones, and things seemed to settle back into their old ways.

Until their newest member arrived.

McCree was just finishing up his morning coffee, hair still mussed, hat off, and shirt buttoned lazily. The rest of the team had gotten used to it already -- Lena usually ruffled his hair as she passed him in the mornings. So he wasn’t expecting the arrival of someone he didn’t immediately recognize. Shorter than him, black and gray hair swept up, clothes exposing a lot more than McCree was used to and with a bow slung across his chest, the newcomer stood in the doorway awkwardly, like he wasn’t sure how to act around these people.

Genji was the first to speak, and immediately afterwards McCree regretted not saying something first. “Hello, brother.”

McCree stared openly now. This, _this_ was Hanzo Shimada, the great warrior who had killed his brother and brought the Shimada empire more glory than his father had.

And who was his soulmate.

Hanzo jerked at the sound of his brother’s voice, one hand absentmindedly reaching up to touch his bow -- whether out of habit or just a reaction, McCree didn’t know. Hanzo seemed to realize he’d done that, because he scowled and brought his hand down, giving a search of the room. His gaze flitted past McCree once, twice, then Hanzo was the one staring at him, taking in his (disheveled) appearance. McCree slowly brought his metal arm up and wiggled his fingers, and Hanzo sucked in a breath imperceptibly. “Are you…?”

McCree went to tip his hat, but remembered it wasn’t on his head. He picked it up off the counter and placed it over his chest instead. “The one and only Jesse McCree, darlin’.”

Hanzo, possibly unsure of how to respond, nodded at him and turned his gaze away. McCree missed the feeling of Hanzo’s eyes on him as soon as they left him. “We can… talk later, if you wish.”

“That’d be real nice, if yer offerin’.” Hanzo gave him a look that said _Of course I’m offering did you not just hear me_ , and McCree’s mouth quirked up into a smile. Hanzo was a stubborn one. McCree finished his coffee in one quick swallow, sent him a wink, and headed back to his rooms to get cleaned up.

McCree found Hanzo later that day in the training area, and when McCree first walked in he was stunned speechless. All of Hanzo’s arrows, whether previously or just now, found their way to the center of the target with no hesitation, and McCree turned his gaze from the target once another arrow was notched and loosed, completely sure that the arrow would find its mark.

He chose to study Hanzo instead. The archer’s hair was impeccable -- McCree was sure it was rarely anything but perfect -- and the clothing he wore _definitely_ exposed more than McCree was expecting. His entire left arm and chest was uncovered, and McCree had to fight the urge to stare.

At least now he could get a good look at Hanzo’s tattoo. It was indeed the length of his arm, and the design was the most intricate he’d ever seen. The dragon twisting around his arm almost looked _real._

Hanzo finally seemed to notice he was standing there, because he lowered his bow and turned to face him. McCree shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Hey there.”

“Hello, McCree.” Hearing Hanzo say his name was entirely different than hearing him think it, and it sent a pleasant tingle down his spine.

“So, uh,” McCree started. He wasn't entirely sure how to act around Hanzo yet. They knew so little about each other, but so much. Hanzo seemed to sense his uneasiness, because he stopped McCree with a hand.

“Come over here,” Hanzo told him, setting down his bow. McCree took a few steps forward until he was in front of Hanzo, not quite in his space, but close enough that Hanzo had to tilt his head back to look McCree in the eye. Hanzo seemed disgruntled by this, and McCree let out a small huff of laughter at Hanzo's muttered, “Are all Americans this tall?”

“Nope. You just got lucky,” McCree replied, and Hanzo cracked a small smile. McCree figured it'd be a rare thing to see, so he savored the moment. Then Hanzo grasped his collar and pulled him down and McCree was kissing Hanzo.

It was fleeting, lasting for only a second before Hanzo pulled away, but McCree smiled happily anyway and put a hand on Hanzo’s waist. “Yer not much of a talker, are ya darlin’,” he said quietly. Hanzo arched a brow, and placed a kiss on his cheek as he moved his hand to McCree’s shoulder.

“You are correct. I find that words are often--” another kiss, this on his neck-- “confusing when used in excess.” He kissed McCree again, this time lifting himself up onto his toes instead of having McCree lean down. McCree thought it was adorable.

“We are gonna talk about… this eventually, right?” McCree wondered with mild worry. If they let the things they'd seen sit between the two of them, it could tear them apart, could hurt them, could…

“You're overthinking,” Hanzo informed him. “We will, yes, but you seemed too nervous to do anything around me. I figured this would calm you down.” Hanzo seemed to be smirking. “And it has.”

“You really know how to read a man, don'tcha,” McCree muttered. “Alright, yer correct. I feel a little… awkward around ya, what with knowin’ what I do.” McCree rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Any man would be.”

“We will figure it out in time,” Hanzo told him. “But first…” Hanzo placed his other hand on McCree’s neck and raised himself up on his toes.

“Kiss me again.”


	9. Accepting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very mild angst feat some team bonding

McCree found Hanzo the next morning in the communal kitchen, making tea for himself. McCree stumbled blearily past him and reached the coffee maker, pressing the button and starting the machine. Hanzo wrinkled his nose. “How can you drink that?” Hanzo asked him, straining his tea leaves.

McCree turned to him and put a hand over his heart, feigning offence. “S’cuse me, darlin’, coffee is the best gosh darn thing ya can have to wake yerself up after a nice night of sleep.”

Hanzo raised a brow as he poured his tea. “So you had a good night of sleep, then?”

“You bet I did. I think I’ll be sleepin’ a lot easier here now that yer around, sugar.” The coffee machine beeped at McCree, and he grabbed a mug and filled it to the brim. “I finally met my soulmate,” McCree said quietly, taking a long swallow of his coffee. “I never thought it’d happen, honestly.”

Hanzo seemed concerned about how much hot coffee he’d just drank, but said nothing about it. “Indeed. You and I were halfway across the world from each other.” Hanzo took a small sip of his tea, scowled, then reached for the sugar. McCree watched as Hanzo poured one, two, three spoons of sugar in, took a sip, then added one more. Hanzo caught his look and smiled slightly. “This is not the tea I am used to.”

“I’ll bet it ain’t. Ya probably had a lot fancier stuff, growin’ up where ya were.”

“You would be correct. My--” Hanzo cut himself off and stared down at his tea. “I apologize. I am not ready to talk about my brother.”

McCree took a seat at one of the chairs by the mini bar and took another drink from his mug. “That's just fine, darlin’. Ya don't gotta make yerself say anythin’ until yer ready.”

“Why do you call me that?” McCree looked up at Hanzo, who was currently taking another delicate sip of his tea.

“Call ya what, darlin’?” Hanzo frowned slightly.

“That. 'Darling.’” McCree grinned.

“It's an old habit of mine. My ma use’ta call me and my siblings stuff like that, and I guess it just stuck with me. I really take after my ma. I love 'er a lot.” McCree looked past Hanzo, lost in thought. Hanzo cleared his throat.

“I see. You must have really been close with your family.” Hanzo's voice had a wistful note in it, and McCree felt a bit bad.

“I was. I wish you'd had as good a family as I did.”

Hanzo gave him a wan smile as he took another sip. “So do I.”

* * *

 McCree saw Hanzo intermittently over the next week, though Hanzo seemed to not be talking most of the time. McCree could see that Hanzo wasn't the most outgoing of people, and considering what had happened with his brother… he probably wasn't used to spending too much time around people and engaging in conversation. McCree saw Hanzo every morning, though. Sometimes it'd just be the two of them, and sometimes it was them and Lena, or them and Lúcio. They'd talk then -- about what happened yesterday, or what new tour Lúcio was going to go on with Hana, or the adjustments Winston had made to Lena’s chronal accelerator.

Hanzo seemed to be settling into the routine of Overwatch. He still stayed away from his brother (understandably), and didn't speak too much on missions unless prompted, but to McCree, it looked like he was more comfortable. More relaxed.

McCree was happy to see him comfortable.

One night, McCree had taken a shower after a mission and had just stepped out to find Hanzo in his room -- more specifically, on his bed. He was curled up, seemingly asleep, but when McCree’s towel rustled Hanzo turned to face him.

Hanzo's eyes were red and puffy, and there were tear tracks on his face. Before McCree could do anything, his vision went blurry, and he collapsed.

* * *

  _I don't deserve this. I killed my brother. I left the clan. I haven't done anything to deserve being this happy. This…_ accepted. _They shouldn’t accept me, they should keep me away from them, I don’t deserve this..._

* * *

 McCree jolted awake. Hanzo was still on the bed in the same position, arms folded over his legs and hugging them to his chest, as if to protect himself. McCree quickly found a pair of boxers (getting into bed with Hanzo with no clothes on would be… awkward) and, after drying off a little more, climbed into the bed as well. He sat in front of Hanzo and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Hanzo and pulling him close. “Shh,” McCree said. “It’s alright. I’ve got ya. Yer gonna be alright.”

Hanzo let himself get pulled in, simply sitting for a few minutes before he shifted and moved his arms to wrap them around McCree lightly. McCree made a soft humming noise and leaned his head against Hanzo’s shoulder, squeezing his arms around Hanzo.

They sat like that, Hanzo slowly calming down until he was content to just let McCree hold him there. Once McCree was satisfied that Hanzo was going to be okay, he moved a bit, unwinding his arms from around Hanzo and putting them on the archer’s shoulders instead. “Hey,” McCree whispered, pulling back to meet Hanzo’s eyes. They stared back at him, the usual calm seen in them disrupted by worry. “D’ya wanna talk about it, darlin’?”

Hanzo broke his gaze, looking down at the bed. “…You had a vision. You know what I was thinking. You know…” Hanzo cut himself off, dropping his hands into his lap.

“Darlin’, no one hates ya for what ya did.” Hanzo brought his gaze back up, clearly skeptical, but McCree continued. “Here, in Overwatch, the past don’t matter. We’ve all done some bad things. We’ve all had those days. We _understand_ each other. That’s why we’re able ta function together, as a team.” McCree moved one of his hands -- his metal one -- and placed it under Hanzo’s chin, tilting his head up. “You know that, darlin’. Ya just gotta let people give ya a chance. Yer not even givin’ yerself a chance; how’re they gonna accept ya if ya do that?”

Hanzo looked a bit chastised, and McCree almost smiled at seeing an unfamiliar look on his face. “It is just… I am not used to people not caring about where I’m from. Which family I belong to. I grew up with such standards that this much leniency is… disconcerting.” Hanzo wrinkled his nose a bit, and McCree may have giggled a little at that. Hanzo stared at McCree. “What is so amusing?”

“Nothin’, darlin’. It’s just that seein’ ya differently than I usually do isn’t somethin’ that happens often. I’d like to take full advantage a’ that.” McCree smiled, and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Hanzo’s nose. “Take yer time, sugar. Ya don’t have ta force yerself. You’ll learn to accept us -- and yerself, and yer brother -- in time.”

Hanzo relaxed against McCree’s chest, hands landing on McCree’s thighs. “Thank you,” he whispered.

McCree kissed Hanzo’s forehead. “Anytime, darlin’.” They sat like that for a minute, until McCree broke the silence hesitantly. “I don’t suppose you’d like to stay here for the night, would ya?”

Hanzo stilled slightly, and McCree worried he’d been too forward. They’d only really known each other for a few weeks, despite all their visions, and since Hanzo was so clearly still adjusting…

“…I’d like that, McCree,” Hanzo finally replied.

McCree smiled and placed a hand on Hanzo’s back. “Jesse.”

“Jesse,” Hanzo affirmed, then tilted his head up for a kiss.


	10. Ending?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first off: i'm so sorry for this late as fuck update. i lost all motivation  
> follow-up comment: this is v short and just like 200 words of fluff bc i couldn't find how to end this?? i may end up writing a ~~~smut~~~ scene bc why not but for now. this is what you get

They didn’t try to hide anything from the team. McCree caught a wink from Lena and Lúcio, a half-smile from Angela -- hell, even Fawkes gave him a knowing glance or two. He took every opportunity to hold Hanzo’s hand, to press a soft kiss against his temple, to scoot  _ that _ much closer to him when they were sitting down. 

The amazing thing was that Hanzo didn’t seem to mind. He leaned into McCree’s touches, so lightly sometimes that McCree barely noticed. Once, he was the one to twine his fingers with McCree’s, and McCree swore his heart skipped a beat or three.

How he’d managed to get such a sweet soulmate was beyond his knowledge.

The next time one of them had a vision, it was during a battle -- King’s Row, McCree remembered. Hanzo had been at his typical high vantage point, easily picking off enemies, when he’d swayed and collapsed. McCree hadn’t noticed (how he hadn’t was a mystery -- he was always watching Hanzo) and kept fighting as usual: firing, rolling away, firing again, occasionally tossing in a flashbang or two.

After the battle, Hanzo had pulled him off to the side, seeming somewhat nervous. “I didn’t know that that was what you thought when fighting,” he admitted.

McCree quickly pieced together what had probably happened, but he wanted to hear it from Hanzo. “What, sugar?” he asked, prompting a light shade of red to rise on Hanzo’s face.

_ God _ , he loved seeing Hanzo blush.

“You think of me. When you’re fighting. The image of me you create with your mind, it’s… flattering.”

“Well, darlin’, of course I’m gonna think of you. Yer the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And you’re damn handsome, too,” McCree said with a small smile.

Hanzo looked shocked for a moment, like he hadn’t expected McCree to be so open about it. McCree reflected for a moment that he’d probably shout to the entire world that he loved Hanzo fucking Shimada, and that thought was only verified when Hanzo smiled slightly back. “Thank you, Jesse.” Hanzo paused for a second. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt you to know that I think of you, too.”

McCree felt a rush of affection run through him at that, and he couldn’t stop himself from cupping Hanzo’s face and kissing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright here's where i gush about all the nice people who helped me write this thing  
> -the mchanzo discord. i said it once. i'll say it again. i love u guys  
> -everyone who commented/liked/glanced sideways at my fic. ur love inspires me  
> this is my first multi-chapter fic and i'm so happy about the attention it got!! i may just be inspired enough to try another :^)  
> thank you for sticking with me!!
> 
> PS: btw, if u wanna know which part was hanzo's first soulmate vision, take a look at chapter 3. it's when mccree was talking abt his Sad experiences in deadlock :^) ur welcome

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first multi-chapter fic! i hope to have a new chapter posted every two days or so, but i may post earlier or later depending on what motivation i have
> 
> yo since this is def my most popular fic i'm gonna put this here: i'll take requests for writing on my tumblr (aotemera.tumblr.com) or you can just send me a message here!!


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